An envelope addressed to Sherlock Holmes was sitting on Lestrade's desk. He had just finished telling us that the explosion across the street had not been a gas leak. That explained why the police were there for so long this morning.
"So all that was left of the place was this envelope addressed to Sherlock?" I asked, knowing the answer already. On occasion I enjoyed feeling the way the rest of the world did. Lestrade never found it as amusing as I did and simply looked at me before carrying on his conversation.
"We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."
"How reassuring." I mocked. Much louder than I had intended to. My sophistication was getting away from me. While Sherlock examined and opened his envelope, I took a moment to look around Lestrade's office. His desk was in complete disarray. His mind has been somewhere other than work for the past week at least. Lestrade was generally organized and most everything stayed the way it was. The picture of his wife was moved slightly, whatever was bothering him was likely to start with her.
"You have one new message." The voice alert from the cell phone that had been in the envelope snapped me back to reality. Everyone was fixated on Sherlock as he listened to the message that consisted of the Greenwich Time signal pips. There were five. It was a warning.
A photo message came through after that. Five pips and a picture that I couldn't make out from this distance. Sherlock's wish was about to come true.
"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Lestrade's voice boomed through the office.
"It's a warning." Sherlock spat as he examined the photo message.
"A warning?" John asked. Though his question was genuine, I was becoming bored of the question game. I sighed and decided to explain.
"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips." I waited while everyone watched. No one seemed to be getting it. "They're warning us it's going to happen again."
Sherlock jumped up and ran to the door, "I've seen this place before."
John grabbed his coat ready to follow. "H-Hang on. What's gonna happen again?"
Sharing in my frustrations, Sherlock turned to John and moved his arms is large gesture, "Boom!"
Sherlock was already in a cab by the time I caught up to them. Lestrade grabbed my wrist, waving for them to go ahead. The cab pulled off. I faced Lestrade, wondering why it was he kept me behind. The only logical explanation was that he wanted to have a "serious conversation". We had far too many serious conversations for a casual affair.
I tried not to let my mind calm from the excitement in the office. This was the most fun I had in months since my "leave" from the Secret Service began. "What is it Greg?" I paid attention to the direction the cab was going in.
I had already started walking in the direction of Baker Street when the sound of my heels clicking along the concrete was met by the sound of Greg's shoes. "You aren't returning my calls."
"I've been busy." I picked up the pace as I made my way across the street. "I thought Jane had gotten better. Why have you been calling?"
He slowed his walk down. I did the same, assuming this was important. His voice was low, "I told her."
A smile crept, uncontrollably, over my face. I began to walk again, "Well Greg, I was beginning to think you didn't have it in you." I threw a glance back at him. We were almost to Baker Street now. "There will be no divorce I hope."
"Its been a long week, but she has agreed to work on things." He cleared his throat. How cute, he was breaking up with me. "I guess what I'm trying to say is…"
"This was never anything, Greg." I caught a look of surprise on his face, "Oh! Right, now I understand. You thought you were about to break my heart. Hoping that I would continue on, pining after you so that when it happens again, and you need a good shag, you could come back to me guilt free?"
In that moment the entire conversation changed. The sorrow in his voice turned to anger. "You know, you don't know everything Ansley Holmes. You may be just as good as Sherlock in deducing and solving crimes, but you don't know every bloody thing about me! Now this, this was real for me, but now its over and there won't be any coming back to you, for any reason." He began to walk back to the station, but he turned back to me, "I fell in love with you. This breaks my heart."
I turned away from him and finished my journey back to 221b Baker Street.